


Long Black Night, Morning Frost

by freebees



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-16 20:01:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16501826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freebees/pseuds/freebees
Summary: It’s a split-second impulse, but Henry suddenly feels angry. Infuriated, even, and he isn’t sure why.He throws the film reel against the ground with a splintered clatter and crushes it under his dripping black heel....Might flesh this out at some point. Probably not, but who knows?Major spoilers for Chapter 5 in here, by the way.





	Long Black Night, Morning Frost

**Author's Note:**

> title is from the song "cry for judas" by the mountain goats, which, frankly, reminds me of this game a lot
> 
> again, major spoilers for ch5. this is, like, the earliest, EARLIEST beginnings of a fix-it/headcanon ending. probably wont write more but if i do you know where to find me!

_How many times have you been down this path before, Henry?_

_How many times is it going to repeat itself?_

_Are you prepared for deathlessness?_

No. Not really.

Henry steps into the inky moat, the thick black liquid staining his already-soaked boots and trousers an even darker shade (if that’s even possible, at this point). He isn’t sure how long he’s been underground at this point. It feels like a lifetime, but the growing stubble on his chin indicates that it’s probably only been a few days at most. He still can’t shake the feeling that the last time he stood in the sun was ages ago, but he’s begun to stop caring about that.

Alice says that he can set them free, but he’s beginning to doubt that. The studio only seems to grow darker and deeper as he goes, and part of him feels that this isn’t an ending at all. That the ink machine he’s stepping towards is some sort of front, rather than the climax to this story’s setting.

Look at him, thinking in storyteller terms. To be fair, the entire studio has this otherworldly quality to it that he can’t recall from his time spent working here. Joey certainly had always been a man of ambition, he supposes, but thinking about what he told him before he came here, part of him wonders if Joey has really changed at all. He can’t say that the oppressive atmosphere of this place is all too dissimilar from that of the tiny corner of the studio he used to spend so much time in.

But he digresses.

Henry has finally entered the machine, and rather than feeling any sort of shock at the trapped souls he sees in the walls, he simply feels an old, tired sadness well up in his chest.

‘I still remember my name,’ huh?

Part of Henry worries that he’ll soon be unable to share that sentiment.

He steps into the throne room, the soles of his shoes still trailing murky puddles of ink behind him, and towards the massive chair at the center. It sits propped up by ink, gears, and projectors, with broken chains dangling from handles that protrude from its sides. This strikes the lonely cartoonist as entirely unremarkable. He reaches for the audio log at its base, Joey’s voice echoing through the chamber as Henry stares at the animation reels being played on screens high above his head. Joey’s voice promises freedom and hope. Henry has the distinct sense that he’s heard all this before, though where, he is not sure. Perhaps it’s only Joey’s tone of voice, the one promising dreams and rewards, and masking the cynical puppeteer underneath. It doesn’t matter anyways, because he’s holding a film reel, and the Ink Demon is here now.

He pokes his head out from behind the throne, hands growing large and head reshaping into something almost entirely unlike the tiny demon that Henry had first drawn thirty years ago.

It’s a split-second impulse, but Henry suddenly feels angry. Infuriated, even, and he isn’t sure why.

He throws the film reel against the ground with a splintered clatter and crushes it under his dripping black heel.

Time, for a moment, seems to freeze.

Henry looks up at the Ink Demon. His crooked grin is seemingly stuck in place, and Henry realizes that he is about to die.

For what feels like a small eternity, the two stare at each other. Perhaps ‘stare’ isn’t the right word. After all, the Ink Demon doesn’t appear to have eyes.

The beast then makes a sound, and Henry can’t identify what it is. At least, not at first; it sounds like a wheezing, whistling exhale. For the first time in what feels like a lifetime, Henry is taken by surprise. He’s never heard this noise before, not ever.

At least, not since he worked on cartoons here.

The realization hits Henry like a truck. Bendy is laughing. Around the two of them, the animations continue playing silently, depicting the adventures of a little devil darling and his best friends. The atmosphere feels tense and absurd all at once, and it’s like he’s a young man coming up with these characters all over again. But. You know. With the immediate threat of his own demise staring him in the face.

Bendy shrinks back behind the throne and reappears as his normal self. Normal as he can get, anyways. Maybe that’s just how he is, Henry thinks; it’s silly to think that a cartoon character could come to life without a single hiccup, especially when demonic incantations are seemingly involved. It would explain why he liked his own cutouts so much, at least.  
Bendy slowly approaches and picks up the film reel with uneven hands, as if checking to make sure it really is gone for good. With a jolt, Henry almost remembers something, and instinctively reaches for his seeing tool. If Bendy isn’t going to kill him, then he has to at least try this. Just once.

He offers the glass to the living cartoon, who grabs it like he doesn’t know that it has a handle. He inspects it in almost an animalistic manner. Maybe one reminiscent of a child who’s trying to figure out a new toy for the first time. Henry can catch glimpses of the invisible ink splattered across the walls and floor as Bendy turns it in his claws. He hopes that he’ll understand in some way, even if it’s a futile thought.

Bendy looks(?) at Henry again, hands him the tool, and shambles over to the wall. Henry watches, ready to bolt, as he begins writing. He muses as to whether or not the demon has written any of the messages he’s seen previously, but as he glances over the words, his heart jumps.

_I know the way out._

_Bring me with you._


End file.
